


when you find sunshine at the convenience store (keep it)

by earlgrey_milktea



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Friendship, Gen, Introspection, Light Angst, being the prince is Not Fun, brotherhood era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 09:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13121319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgrey_milktea/pseuds/earlgrey_milktea
Summary: Being the Prince of Insomnia is not all it's cracked up to be. It fucking sucks, to be honest. It's no wonder Noctis is acting out and sneaking out at night to do who knows what, much to the dismay and worry of everyone around him.Then he meets Prompto, a hard worker, a diligent student, a good influence with a smile that rivals the sun.





	when you find sunshine at the convenience store (keep it)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [r3zuri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/r3zuri/gifts).



> i decided to fill the [crossposted kinkmeme request](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/3451.html?thread=3396987#cmt3396987)
> 
> hello! something i really loved about this entire series is noctis and prompto's friendship, so i'm glad this prompt allowed me to explore that a bit in a different context. i wasn't quite confident enough to dive in deep with the Noct Angst for this one, but i hope you'll still enjoy this fic anyway!

Noctis’ apartment is dark when Ignis steps in. There are garbage bags clogging up the doorway, and one glance at the kitchen area through the dimness reveals dirty dishes piled hazardously over every available surface. It smells like dust and beer.

Ignis sighs. He straightens his back, pushes up his glasses, and heads for the bedroom.

It’s worse than the living area. There are clothes strewn across the floor, more bags clogging up the free space, socks balled up and scattered, magazines and charging cords littering any leftover surface area. There’s a small clear path from the door to the bed, but even that is more of a guess. On the bed is a lump of blankets, with messy dark hair sticking out.

Ignis sighs again.

“Noct,” he says into the stale darkness. “Your Highness. _Noctis_.”

The lump on the bed moves. A bleary eye peeks out. At the door, Ignis is too far away, but he doesn’t need visual proof to know that the usual midnight blue is bloodshot and squinting from a hangover.

“Specs,” Noctis groans in greeting.

“You snuck out again last night, didn’t you,” Ignis says.

“Nngh.”

“I’ll prepare some water and some breakfast for you. But you should clean yourself up first. A shower, if possible.”

Noctis’ only response is to roll over against the wall.

Ignis takes a look at the mess that is the Royal Prince’s room, and sighs once more.

 

 

 

Your head pounds relentlessly. You can barely keep your eyes open. Your entire body aches, from the old injuries and from the way you overexerted yourself last night. Again. Bathroom stalls are not meant for two drunk people, but you never really learn. It’s not like you care all that much. Not when alcohol is thrumming through your bloodstream and the flashing lights and hypnotizing club music manages to convince adrenaline to rush through your body and you can pretend you feel alive for just one night.

You can pretend there isn’t a giant stupid Crystal slowly sucking out your life force sitting in the hollow, dusty throne room.

You can pretend you don’t care that you only ever see your father on the television, and every time you do, he looks that much closer to death.

You can pretend you’re not the fucking prince of a crumbling kingdom.

You can pretend you’re fine.

The morning after never gets better, though. The bitter taste of bile and regret is heavy on your tongue, but what’s worse is the disappointed gaze Ignis levels at you.

What’s worse is you can’t bring yourself to stop.

 

 

 

Regis puts down the latest Crownsguard report and heaves out a heavy sigh. Clarus looks up from his phone.

“What happened this time?”

Regis shakes his head. “His grades have gone down. And apparently he’s been sneaking out at night.”

“Successfully?”

“Many times.”

Clarus crosses his arms. “What are you going to do? At this rate, it will be a miracle to keep the public from knowing about his... teenage rebellion. You know how the media is like. They’ll hound him like voretooths.”

“I know.” Regis stares down at the piles of papers on his desk. There are new legislature to look over, new drafts and reports to sign, and new plans about the war to discuss. His time is so limited, and what little of it he has left is spent worrying over his son from afar.

“Clarus,” he says. He rubs a hand down his face. “Can you help me check if there is any free time in my schedule next week?”

His friend gives him a look that Regis cannot find the energy to parse. Instead, he shuffles the reports on Noctis and puts them to the side. He will find time to deal with that later. He will.

 

 

 

There’s this corner by the school courtyard. It’s a blind spot from the student patrols, and the faculty are reluctant to spare time to come this far out. Figures. Adults are useless. It’s hidden behind the neat little row of trees, and there’s a clear spot when you can lean against the wall and smoke to your heart’s content.

The cigarette is bitter against your tongue. You’re used to it, though. Oral fixation, Ignis would say.

“Oh,” a voice says suddenly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

You look up to find a kid staring at you with wide eyes from around the corner. He looks half-familiar, but what’s really worrying you is the camera in his hands. He must have noticed you staring, because his gaze flickers down, too, and then he’s floundering again.

“Sorry! It’s not—I wasn’t spying on you, or anything, I was just—there was a butterfly, and...”

You hold out your hand. He glances at it uncertainly. You point at the camera. He bites his lip, but hands it over meekly. You feel bad, but Ignis was always reminding you safety first, so.

He wasn’t lying. There are a few blurry pictures of something small and blue flying away, but the rest are surprisingly well-taken photographs of plants, sunsets, and dogs. Carefully, you hand it back to the kid. He gives you a startled look for a second, but before you can question it, he’s taking the camera back and ducking his head.

“Sorry,” he says again, “I’ll just—I gotta go. The bell’s going to ring soon, and...” He pauses. Wide blue eyes flick up at you quickly. “Are you coming to class, Prince Noctis?”

You scowl. “No,” you say shortly.

“O-Oh. Okay, um. I’ll see you around, then.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you alone in this abandoned corner of the school campus again. It’s only after, when you’re dusting off your pants and making your way back inside the buildings to grab your bag when it occurs to you that he’s probably a classmate. Not that it matters much. You haven’t looked anyone in the eye since the term started.

But he called you by name, instead of _Highness._ You think about blond hair and scenic photographs as you stalk through the streets away from your apartment.

 

 

 

Nighttime Insomnia is thrumming and restless and the beginning of a headache for Gladio. He runs a hand through his hair—recently cut and much shorter than he’s used to—as he scans the street for a familiar head of messy dark hair. He lost sight of the brat just a few seconds ago. He can’t have gone far.

The colourful lights on this side of town makes his eyes hurt. Now, Gladio’s a guy who likes his parties and meeting his ladies, but he has standards. He’s also currently on the clock with a loose prince to catch. With a quick glance around at the flashing LED signs overhead, Gladio picks out the dumbest, catchiest name, and pushes his way through the crowd.

The bouncer at the door looks bored and suffering. Gladio sympathizes. He flashes the fake ID that Ignis—bless the guy—managed to get for him and, unfortunately, for Noct because Astrals know how weak Ignis is for the brat’s stupid pout. Let him have his fun while he can, Gladio said. How he regrets that now.

Inside the club, Gladio is bombarded with pounding bass, a throng of people dancing and half-drunk on each other, and hazy strobe lights of every colour. He sighs, steeling himself before heading over to the bar. It takes a few subtle questions and then a bit more not-so-subtle prodding and a discreet flash of his family crest, before the bartender points him over to the other side of the room. He glances over in time to see a familiar figure disappearing into the washroom with a stranger. Gladio sighs some more.

He slams open the door in time to see Noctis being pressed against the wall. Gladio wastes no time in pulling the other person—someone definitely way too old to be going after youths in a club like this, fake IDs or not—off Noctis and throwing them towards the other side of the room. He hooks a hand around Noctis’ wrist and tugs.

“Come on, princess,” he says, “that’s enough fun for tonight.”

Noctis bats at his hand with little effect. “No—let go, I—Fuck you!”

Gladio scowls. “You’ve been bar hopping for hours, you little shit, on a school night, too. Let’s go. I’m cutting you off.”

“You’re not... the boss of me.”

“And I thank the Astrals every day for that.” Gladio bends down and heaves Noctis over his shoulder. “Alright, time to go home.”

Muffled protests erupt at his back, but Gladio doesn’t pause. He tightens his grip and grits his teeth, already tired at the expression Ignis will be wearing when he opens the door.

 

 

 

It’s become harder to lose your tail every night. Ever since they have Gladio on the case, physically hauling you out of the clubs you manage to sneak into. Whatever. It’s not like getting piss-drunk and getting it up with some faceless stranger is all that fun to you. It was just killing time.

Tonight, you’re walking through a quiet part of the city, hood up and anonymous under the lamplights. There are couples walking home, hands linked together. Cars driving by, serious-looking people in suits striding past you without looking up from their phones. It’s like you’re invisible, but instead of the relief you thought you’d find, you just feel tired.

Something jingles to your left. A few patrons are exiting a convenience store. You hesitate. Then you’re stepping up to the automatic sliding doors, and crossing the threshold.

It’s practically empty. The lighting is bright, displaying aisles of brightly-coloured snacks and beverages. There is only one person in the store, wiping at the hot foods counter. He looks up when you enter, and you meet blue eyes, violet under the orange lights.

“Welcome—Oh, h-hello, Prince Noctis?”

Out of reflex, you frown, causing the boy to flinch and look away. It takes you a second to place him; he’s the kid that found you smoking behind the school building.

“Um. Sorry,” he’s saying, hurrying back around the cash register. “Did—did you want to get something? We also offer hot drinks! Like coffee—or, I guess some people don’t like coffee this late, um—we also have tea, or—maybe you’re here to mail a letter...?”

You stroll up to the cash, swiping a bottle of lime soda as you go. “You still have meat buns?”

“Yeah! Just one?”

“Mm.”

“Okay! I’ll just be a second.”

You hand over your sleek black card, idly watching as he reaches into the box for your meat bun. His tongue sticks out in concentration. He’s wearing glasses, and something about the black frames under the warm lights makes his freckles stand out more. He looks incredibly chipper even at this late hour.

“Here’s your order!”

You take the meat bun and your card, making for the tiny seating area by the window. As an afterthought, you turn back. “What time are you open until?”

“Oh, uh, we’re open twenty-four hours, Prince Noctis.”

“Oh.” Then, quietly, you mutter, “Just Noctis is fine.”

He blinks at you. And then he’s smiling, and it’s like the entire store brightens several degrees.

When you go to chuck away your trash, you find yourself looking over at the cashier again. He catches your glance and waves at you, so you quickly turn your head, but not before you catch a glimpse of his nametag.

 _Prompto._ It suits him, you think. Then you shake your head and make your way back to you dark apartment.

 

 

 

Ignis checks the balance, and then checks it again. He takes off his glasses and rubs at the bridge of his nose.

“What now,” Gladio says from the couch across from him.

“He’s been swiping his card at every turn, it seems.”

“What’s he spending it on? All he does is sleep and party. He doesn’t even do much of the party these days, either.”

“Electronics, clothes, shoes, random household junk, and many more things he doesn’t need. Did you know he purchased a motorbike in the last week? He apparently also had the foresight to purchase a parking spot for it, since he doesn’t have the license to ride it.”

Gladio barks out a laugh, but quickly stops at the scathing look Ignis throws him. He clears his throat. “Well, if it makes you any better, he’s not spending all that money on alcohol.”

“Oh?” Ignis frowns. “Yet he’s still out and about at odd hours of the night. Any ideas what he’s been up to?”

Gladio snorts. “Yeah, he’s been holing up in a convenience store.”

“What?”

“You heard right. The brat’s been visiting this one convenience store every night. Apparently he’s fallen for the kid working the graveyard shift.”

“What?”

Gladio reaches over and pats Ignis on the shoulder. “Hey, look at it this way. You don’t have to deal with hungover Noct. Just lovestruck Noct.”

Ignis stares down at the bank statements in front of him until the numbers start to swim.

 

 

 

Prompto talks a lot. You only find this out after the third night you visit his store, when he seems to understand that you don’t mind his chattering like you mind everyone else’s. In the middle of the night, in an empty convenience store, his brightness and excitable conversation is welcome. He doesn’t seem to mind that you’re more content to listen to him ramble.

He likes photography. He spends his weekends walking through his neighbourhood taking photographs, and sometimes he volunteers to walk the dogs at the local shelter. He’s not very good at calculations, but he’s pretty good at tinkering with things. He runs on his own, but he won’t join the track and field team because he doesn’t have time. He takes the shifts no one wants because at least he can study when it’s dead, and um, we can study together sometime, if you want, Noct?

You don’t really remember when he started calling you Noct, but you don’t mind it. You don’t mind it at all.

Ignis is waiting for you when you step into your apartment.

“You’re smiling,” Ignis says.

You scowl. “I’m not.”

“Have you been eating at that convenience store every night?”

“So what?”

“Store-bought meals aren’t very healthy, Noct. At least have some homemade food every once in a while.”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever. It’s not like I’m going to live long anyway.” You regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth, seeing the flinch Ignis can’t hide. But he only reaches up to adjust his glasses, lips pressed together in a tight line.

“Your father,” Ignis says, “is concerned with you staying out so late at night—”

“Oh, is he, now.”

“Noctis.”

You walk past him, clenching your fingers so he can’t see how they shake. In anger, or something else, you’ve given up trying to figure out. “It’s none of his business. I’m not doing stupid shit that will cause a royal scandal anymore, right? I’m just... hanging out with a friend. So leave me alone. Tell him to worry about more important things.”

“Noct—”

The rest of his sentence is cut off by the slam of your bedroom door.

 

 

 

“A friend?”

Clarus’ son nods, a half-smile on his face. He’s grown quite a bit in the past few years, reminding Regis so much of a young Clarus. Noctis’ advisor has also grown, shooting up rather quickly, though his gaze remains as serious and intelligent as ever. They’ve both grown into fine young men. Regis can only hope that his own son is growing well, too. He can’t remember the last time they’ve sat down face to face.

“A classmate,” Ignis supplies. He leans forwards and deposits a few pictures onto Regis’ desk. The photographs depict a blond teenager, one in Noctis’ school uniform, and one in the nondescript uniform of a local convenience store. He looks innocent enough, freckled and wide-eyed, though he wears his uniform with the shirt untucked and a whole lot of accessories on his arms.

“Well,” Regis says, “if Noctis is making friends, that’s good, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” says Ignis, “but I would be more hesitant about what kind of friends he is making.”

“Are you worried this kid is going to hurt Noct?” Gladiolus says with a scoff. “Look at him, he’s a twig. I could bench press the kid, no problem.”

“You of all people should know not to judge based on appearances.”

Gladio waves a hand. “He walks dogs during his free time. Definitely harmless.”

Ignis gives him a severe frown, but Regis is peering at the third photograph. The boy is dressed in ripped jeans and dangling chains, mismatched patches sewn onto his jacket, a multitude of wristbands, quite a number of earrings. Regis can see why Ignis would disapprove. But the boy’s rather bold appearance is negated by the group of dogs he’s surrounded himself with in the picture. Looking at it, Regis has to fight the urge to laugh.

“What does his records say?” he asks.

This causes Ignis to sigh as if it pains him. “Clean,” he says. “Middle class parents, average grades, no blemishes and no incidents. The only concern would be the odd hours he works, but even that has not affected his academics at all.”

Gladio is outright smirking by now. Regis sighs.

“I suppose we just sit back for now,” he says. “If this... Prompto Argentum is as good as his records appear to be, then perhaps Noctis will be influenced positively.” He pauses. “It would be nice if he had friends his own age, as well.”

The young men before him stand and bow respectfully, but where Gladio immediately takes his leave, Ignis lingers with a frown.

“If I may, Your Majesty.”

Regis smiles slightly at his formality. “Yes, Ignis?”

Ignis hesitates for a moment longer, but when he raises his head, his gaze is steady. “I think you should meet with Noctis more often. A dinner, or—a visit. I think... I think Noct would appreciate it.”

“I see. Thank you for the suggestion, Ignis.”

The boy bows once more. His back is straight and his head is held high when he leaves.

Regis stares at the closed door of his office for a long time. Finally, he reaches across his desk for his calendar.

 

 

 

“Are you sure this is okay?” Prompto asks, not for the first time.

You wave a hand. “It’s fine,” you reassure him, flashing your card again. “Just for today, okay? You can buy me dinner next time.”

For a moment, you think you might have to argue with him again, but then Prompto grins, and everything is good again.

Your new best friend is so easy to fall into step with. He laughs at your bad jokes, he plays the same games you do, he never fails to respond to your texts. Most importantly, he never once treats you like the untouchable prince you’re supposed to be. The only thing he has a problem with is how much money you spend on him. It’s the only thing he refuses to budge about, and after a few bouts of mutual silent treatment, you start to relent and let him pay for himself. At first, you figure it’s pride. Then, you think about the time he puts into work and his mentions of absentee parents, and you look at the radiance of his smile and his genuine optimism. When you make your way home to your apartment at three in the morning, you look in your mirror and think about the way Prompto raises his fists and goes, “Whatever the Fates have in store for me, they gotta go against these guns, ‘cause I’m not going down without a fight!” and you find yourself falling asleep, still fully clothed, but with a smile on your face.

“Hey, wanna go to the arcade?” you ask.

Prompto starts to nod, and then he frowns. “Actually, can we take a raincheck on that?” he says. “There’s a test later this week, and I really gotta study for that.”

“You’re such a nerd.”

“Yeah, well, the brain is still a muscle, Noct! So technically I’m working out!”

You huff out a laugh despite yourself. Then, you get an idea. “Hey, Prom... How about we study together?”

His eyes widen at you, and you’re so fascinated with how easily you can read his expressions. “Really? You sure?”

“Yeah. You can come over, if you want.”

“Dude, that’d be awesome! I’m totally there.”

“Good.” You face forwards again, but no amount of publicity training can erase the smile on your face. There’s something light swelling across your chest, something almost unfamiliar but so very warm.

Neither of you mention it when you take the long way home.

 

 

 

When Ignis receives Noct’s text about having a friend over for a study date, Ignis believed his eyes to be deceiving him. He’s distracted throughout the day, nearly mixing sugar into the bowl instead of flour. Eventually, he finishes his to-do list enough to head over to Noct’s place.

He’s not sure what he’s expecting when he opens the door, but two teenage boys hunched over notebooks on the table in quiet concentration is not it.

Noctis continues to scratch away at his worksheet, but his friend looks up when Ignis walks into the living room. His hair is an unruly mess, and his earrings are definitely not school code-approved, but he smiles at Ignis all bright and sunshine.

“Hi! I’m Prompto! Uh, do you—did you need help with that?”

Ignis looks down at the groceries in his hands. “It’s fine,” he says. He crosses the room and drops the bags onto the kitchen counter. “How is the studying going?”

The kid opens his mouth, but Noctis beats him to it. “Fantastic,” he says, finally lifting his eyes towards Ignis. He glares, and Ignis doesn’t know whether to be amused or miffed at how well Noctis can read him and his disapproval for his new friend. He supposes that in all their years of growing up together, Noctis knows him just as well as Ignis knows Noctis.

“That’s good to hear,” he says. “If there are any questions you need help on, please let me know.”

“Thanks, Iggy!”

Two pairs of eyes whip around to stare at Prompto. He blinks, and then, as if finally registering what he said, promptly turns as red as the tomatoes Ignis is unpacking. He drops his pencil as he waves his arms in front of him, stuttering wildly.

“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t—it’s just, Noct talks about you all the time, and—I don’t know, I just, I’m just a, a nicknames guy? You just—You sounded so intimidating the way Noct described you—but cool! Intimidating in a cool way! So I just, just thought Iggy might make you less intimidating in my head—I’m so sorry, I— _Noct,_ stop laughing!”

Ignis is still holding a tomato in both hands, but he forgets all about them as he watches the flustered boy flail helplessly at the prince, who just laughs and laughs and laughs. Noctis is bent over to the side, clutching his stomach, mouth wide and laughing like Ignis hasn’t heard in a long, long time. Prompto is still red, red enough his freckles have almost disappeared, one hand still slapping ineffectively at Noct’s shoulder. They look like two boys, two friends, comfortable in each other’s company. Not a prince, not a punk, just... two teenagers, being teenagers.

Prompto stays for dinner that night. He compliments Ignis’ cooking with every bite, and Noctis’ smiles don’t cease. If Ignis catches Noct sneaking half his peas onto Prompto’s plate, he doesn’t mention it.

 

 

 

A half-empty box of cigarettes falls out of your sweater when you tug it out of the drawer. For a moment, you stare at it as if it was a foreign object.

You haven’t missed class for a month and a half. Your grades have gone back up again, not that it was all that hard, but the study dates with Prompto help. Ignis has taken to coming up with new recipes and trying them on you and Prompto during these sessions. Not that the two of you are complaining. You resume training with Gladio, and Prompto joins you sometimes. He’s still clumsy, but when you lose to Gladio in a spar, you let him goad you into trying again. The late nights don’t really diminish; Prompto still works weird hours, but less now, and when he’s done, Ignis drives the both of you home. You find yourself falling asleep and waking up to Prompto’s brand of dumb emoticons.

Being the prince still sucks. Some days your body aches and aches and you can’t find the will to drag yourself out of bed. Prompto sends you streams of cat memes even though you don’t reply as often, and you sleep. Some days you find yourself trapped in a crowd of faceless strangers, and you know it’s in your head but you can’t help but feel like they’re looking at you, they’re pointing at you, they’re waiting for you to do something, to do better, you’re the prince, aren’t you? Prompto tugs you into a quiet corner and waits with you until Ignis shows up, and you sleep some more.

If you could, you would walk straight to that stupid throne room and take your father’s sword and smash that Crystal into pieces. But you can’t, so you wake up, you go to class, you learn, you walk home with Prompto. You try.

“Noct? Are you ready?” Ignis calls from the front door. "His Majesty is in the car outside.”

“Coming,” you yell back. You tug the sweater on, run a hand through your messy hair. Then, on second thought, you pick up the cigarette box, and throw it across the room. It sails in a perfect arc right into the garbage can.

Your phone dings.

_say hi to the king for me!! send me pics of cool fishes u catch, ok??_

There’s a line of emoticons, long enough to cut into a new chat bubble. You shake your head, tucking your phone away.

You don’t bother hiding your smile when you walk out the door.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> @ square: no more death and pain, more father-son fishing trips....... give us more brotherhood content.......... pls,,


End file.
